


love falling like the rain

by darlingargents



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Barn Sex, Blow Jobs, Consensual Underage Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, Getting Together, M/M, Making Out, Post-IT (2017), The Weather Is A Metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents
Summary: Eddie loves the Hanlons’ farm.
Relationships: Mike Hanlon/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	love falling like the rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).



> Title from Ultralife by Oh Wonder.
> 
> Thanks to [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/) for the beta! ♥

Eddie loves the Hanlons’ farm. He’s loved it for a long time; when he was little, he used to bike down there in secret, to see Mike and walk through the fields, sometimes picking berries off their bushes. His grass allergy (“allergy”, as it turns out) never acted up when he was there; it was like being at the farm was a secret immunity to all his ills. The air felt lighter, the spring in his step was stronger.

He felt like he could be something more than a fragile little kid.

The point is, he’s always loved it, and after that summer — after getting off the meds and making his own way in Derry — he loved it even more. Which is how he ends up going there almost every day, the summer after his junior year, when most of the other Losers are gone. He helps Mike with his chores, and if that means he gets to sneak a glance or two at the way Mike’s body has filled out, the tone of his muscles and the sheen of sweat against his biceps and chest, well, that’s just a bonus.

(Mike had convinced his grandparents to let him start high school with the other Losers, and he’d joined the football team sophomore year; he’d been the QB. Eddie had dragged Richie to the games and they’d munched popcorn and watched Mike on the field. Eddie didn’t understand the game, really, but watching Mike… it was worth it.)

He would feel weird about it, maybe, but he knows that Mike knows. Mike’s seen him looking, and always gives him a little smile, like he knows exactly what Eddie’s thinking. So Eddie takes it as permission to keep looking, and looking, and thinking. And maybe someday, there will be touching, too. Eddie has no plans to rush it, though. They have the whole summer; they have all the time in the world.

*

The first day of July dawns hot and humid, the air tasting like a coming storm. Mommy has made scrambled eggs and bacon for him when he comes downstairs, dressed for the farm. Mommy spots the dirt on his shorts, the grazes on his elbows and makes _that_ face. The face he knows too well: the one that means she wants to tell him what to do, even though they both know it doesn’t work that way anymore.

Eddie dutifully sits down and swallows the sugar pill, the sweet crystals crunching in his back molars, and eats his eggs and bacon, and drinks down the orange juice. He kisses Mommy on the cheek, where her smile is frozen, gets his fanny pack, and leaves.

It’s still hot and humid and somewhere over the hills in the distance, Eddie can see dark clouds rolling in. The day of work might get cut short, and he can’t really say he minds; on the days that happens, he and Mike have gone into the old barn, unused but for tool storage for the last few years. It smells like sweet hay and rust and it tickles his nose, and the loft is a great place to watch the storm from a distance. Rain battering the roof as loud as gunshots, flashes of lightning far away, and his arm pressed against Mike’s, warm and solid beside him.

He thinks about storms until he finally rolls up to the farmhouse, setting his bike in its place by the porch before he goes to knock on the front door. Mike’s grandmother greets him with a warm smile and offers him a glass of lemonade, like she always does.

“No, thanks,” he says, politely as he can, and glances past her to see Mike at the kitchen table. Mike turns around and smiles at him, and that smile warms Eddie to his core.

“You’re such a nice young man,” Mrs. Hanlon says, and reaches up to ruffle his hair. Eddie’s glad at least one person he knows is shorter than him. “Mikey will be out in a minute.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Hanlon,” Eddie says, and steps back off the porch. Looking at the sky, he’s pretty sure they’re in for a storm. He doesn’t think he minds.

*

By noon, the wind has picked up enough that work is called off. Leroy calls him and Mike back into the house, and Mrs. Hanlon force-feeds them three servings of a hearty stew that warms Eddie’s whole body, with fluffy, home-baked bread and berries with whipped cream for dessert. The rain starts to come down as Eddie watches, entranced, Mike licking whipped cream off his finger.

“Goodness,” Mrs. Hanlon says. “I suppose that’s it for the day, then.”

“I already sent the others home,” Leroy says. “What are you boys going to do, then?”

Eddie looks at Mike, at the look in his eyes, and suddenly he knows. “Want to head out to the barn, Mike?” he asks, his voice astonishingly steady.

“Sure,” Mike says, and stretches. Eddie is unfairly distracted by the flex of his muscles under his skin. There’s power in those arms and hands, he knows; he’s seen it at work. It makes him almost giddy.

The walk to the barn, through the battering wind and rain, is electric with possibility; Eddie’s afraid to look at Mike, in case it breaks something between them. It’s a short walk, but Eddie is soaked to the skin by the time Mike hauls the door of the barn open and they step inside. It’s dark and smells like hay, and Eddie follows Mike up to the loft.

There’s a mattress on the floor next to a set of massive windows overlooking the fields. Eddie can see the sheeting rain and roiling black clouds, the wind whipping the crops back and forth. It’s still midday, but it’s dark enough to feel like evening.

Eddie turns to look at Mike, and Mike leans down, cups his face in his hands, and kisses him.

It’s a good kiss; Mike’s lips are soft and warm and when Eddie goes further, pushing his mouth open, he goes along with it. Eddie’s hands end up on his shoulders, pulling him down to Eddie’s level, the kiss deepening until Eddie needs to pull away for air. Mike’s eyes are wide when Eddie looks at him, wide and wild and ready.

Somehow, kissing turns into kissing on the mattress, and kissing on the mattress turns into taking their shirts off. Eddie ends up straddling Mike’s hips, his hands in Mike’s hair, Mike’s hands at his sides, his thumbs digging into Eddie’s hip bones. He can feel Mike’s cock pressed against his ass, hard; he’s hard too and he’s sure Mike can feel it, pressed between their stomachs.

Kissing is good. Kissing is great, in fact, but Eddie thinks he wants more. He grinds his hips down against Mike’s cock through their pants and is rewarded with a gasp against his mouth. “ _Eddie_ ,” Mike says, his voice breaking halfway through Eddie’s name, and his hands tighten on Eddie’s hips. Eddie thinks that he’s never heard anything as perfect as the way Mike just said his name. He does it again, and again, and Mike’s hips jerk up a little as he lets out a half-broken sob.

Eddie breaks away from the kiss and steps back to shimmy out of his shorts and boxers, and MIke does the same with his jeans. It’s a little dim in the barn, but Eddie can see his whole body, and doesn’t think he ever wants to stop looking. The muscle, the dark hair…and his dick. Eddie hasn’t seen a lot of them in his life, especially not hard, but he thinks Mike’s might be the nicest he’s seen yet. It’s flushed dark and leaking at the tip and he wants to put his mouth on it so badly that he might come just from that.

Mike is looking at him, too, his gaze roaming up and down Eddie’s body. Eddie knows he’s not as much to look at, comparatively, but — well. He’s already gotten Mike hard. He’s ready to finish the job.

“Sit back down,” he says, and Mike does, a little bewildered. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie sees a flash of lightning, and a few seconds later the thunder rolls in as Eddie drops to his knees, straddling Mike’s legs, and reaches down to take Mike’s cock in his hand.

Mike’s eyes practically roll back in his head. His cock jumps in Eddie’s hand and Eddie slides his fingers over the top, collecting the wetness and slicking it back down Mike’s cock. He jerks Mike off, slow and steady, and says, “Can I suck it?”

Mike’s cock twitches in his hand, another dribble of precome sliding out the tip. “You want to?” Mike asks breathlessly. Eddie nods. Mike stares at him for a long moment, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”

Eddie shifts down and to the side as Mike’s head thumps down on the mattress, continuing to stroke Mike’s dick as he does. He slides his hand down to the base and leans down to suck the tip into his mouth. It fills his mouth as he goes down as far as he can and pulls back up, and goes down again, moving his hand in rhythm on the parts he can’t reach with his mouth.

The noises Mike is making go straight to his own dick as Eddie sucks the tip into his mouth, swirls his tongue around it, nudges at the slit. He wants to hear all of Mike’s noises; he doesn’t think he could ever get tired of them. He takes his cock as far down as he can go until he gags, and Mike makes a desperate sound at that, halfway between a gasp and a sob.

Eddie has never been sure how he’d feel about this. But every bit of it is perfect; his mouth feels full, stretched wide open, and all he wants is more, deeper. He’s resisting the urge to touch his own dick, afraid he’ll come the second he does, and has to content himself with touching Mike instead. He uses the hand not on Mike’s dick to touch Mike’s arm, his hand, his stomach. He wants to touch every inch of Mike’s skin.

“Eddie,” Mike says, his hips jerking up as he sits up, “I’m gonna — _fuck—_ ”

Eddie pulls off and slides his hand up and down Mike’s dick, his own spit mixing with the precome.Mike’s hips jerk up again and he comes, hard, come splattering against his chest and Eddie’s hand.

“Fuck,” Mike says, and collapses again. “You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says; it seems like a better response than _that was my first_.

Mike sits up, and glances down at Eddie’s dick. “Let me,” he says, and reaches out to take Eddie’s dick in his hand. Eddie’s close already; he’s just fulfilled his number one sexual fantasy of all time. There have been others, sure, but nothing has beaten this: the idea of blowing someone. There’s something about it that hits him like nothing else.

Mike’s movements are different from Eddie’s own, slower and gentler, and Eddie almost wants to do it himself, no matter how close he is, when Mike leans down and sucks the head of Eddie’s dick into his mouth. Eddie fists a hand in Mike’s hair and barely has time to let out a warning before Mike pulls off, a string of spit suspended between Eddie’s dick and his mouth, and he comes harder than he ever has in his life. Some of it hits Mike’s face, dripping off his lips and splattered on his cheek, and a certain, primal part of himself thinks it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen.

Eddie collapses next to Mike on the mattress and for a moment they just lay there, sweat cooling on their bodies. The thudding of the rain on the barn roof, drowned out before, is audible again, and Eddie can still hear the occasional thunderclap and the wind rattling against the barn.

He knows the storm is going to die down soon, and they’ll have to clean up and get dressed, and maybe he’ll get to kiss Mike again, and tomorrow he can come back and maybe they’ll do this in Mike’s room.

It’s going to happen, soon.


End file.
